


The Wrong Rose

by Rubynye



Category: Lord of the Rings - Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Timeline, Alternate Universe - Dark, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-14
Updated: 2010-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-06 07:07:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam will be brought no more Roses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wrong Rose

**Author's Note:**

> This is a "What if So and So Got The Ring" AU. But it's not _about_ that.
> 
> I wrote this for the [Kill Your Lover](http://www.livejournal.com/users/embitca/510769.html) Challenge. "Kill Your Favorite Character". So I killed three of my very favorites.

Title: The Wrong Rose  
Rating: PG  
Characters: The Lady, Her smallest gardener, and some unfortunately uprooted Roses.  
Pairing: Sam/Rosie  
Summary: Just read it. It's well under 1000 words.  
Warning: het, angst, character deaths.

 

Rosie is dying.

She is dying amidst _elanor_ and _niphredil_ blossoms, dying on the soft grass beneath a golden tree of Lorien, dying before Sam's sore eyes. He kneels beside her, holding her hand, empty of tears. Rosie is dying.

*

The Lady had come to Sam, one day soon after he'd been raised from sickbed, one day soon after Mr. Frodo had died. Gold glinted round Her pale feet as She walked through fallen mallorn-leaves; gold glinted round Her head, where Her wreathed hair shone in the sunlight; gold glinted at Her throat, where She wore the Ring on a thin silver chain.

"How does my little gardener today?" She asked. Sam looked up at Her, at Her beauty all ice and gold, and wished for nothing so much as a warm hobbit lass, curly brown hair and soft curves.

The Lady bent Her keen eyes to him, and read his thought, and smiled. "A fellow hobbit, Samwise? Was not your betrothed called after a flower?" Startled, Sam tried to say he had no betrothed, but She was already thinking, finger to Her lip. "Yes, a rose. I shall bring you a Rose, my little gardener."

And She glided on, before Sam could shift his clumsy tongue, tell Her he didn't mean it, beg Her not to do it.

*

Some days later, a tall elf brought Sam "a present from the Lady, with Her compliments." A shivering hobbit lass, whom Sam had never seen before, her hair too light, her eyes too dark, her round face pale with fear. Sam tried to make her welcome, tried to ease her fear, but she trembled at the elves, and wouldn't eat, and wept for home; one morning Sam found her limp on the ground in his garden, shaking and insensible, till he lifted her and she opened her eyes.

"It's so cold here," she whispered, shuddering. "So chilly bright." Her breath rattled on the words; her trembling eased to utter stillness. Sam knew, as he laid her down, that the cool earth of the Lady's remade Lorien could not hold the roots of Roses from the Shire.

And yet, when the Lady came to him, to inquire after Her gift, his mouth opened only to thank Her; She laughed, and frowned, and said, "the wench is dead, Samwise. But fear not, I shall fetch you another." When She'd gone, Sam fell to his knees in the earth, whispering "no," and wept.

*

Another lass was brought, and another, all of them named Rose. Sam tried to give each one comfort he didn't feel himself, and each smiled sadly at him, face already pale. They wept for home, and pined, and died, and after each Sam was more and more alone, only the loam of the gardens to hold him as he wept.

Then came his Rose, the Rosie he'd grown up with, the Rosie whose rich brown hair and wide grey eyes he knew from childhood. Sam's heart ached to see her looking about with fear, but she took a deep breath and took Sam's hand in hers and said to him, "so, you've a garden, Sam."

Even so, the food went to ashes in her mouth, and she shivered even with his arms around her, and Sam helplessly watched his Rosie fade, and that was worst of all.

Now she lies dying, and Sam watches her, but he will watch no more Roses die. His pruning-knife is sharp, and the Lady is far away; he slumps beside his Rose, and with the last of his strength drapes an arm around her. The earth of Lorien drinks up his life, as hers fades away, as it cradles them both.


End file.
